


tears like rain on the windowpane

by kzumeknma (born_to_fly)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Cheating, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, not really - Freeform, so i didn't fix it i just made it worse lmaooo, we'll see if i can fix this later lol, y'all already know what i'm about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/born_to_fly/pseuds/kzumeknma
Summary: Everyone knows that, as a general rule, Kozume Kenma would rather not.It's by this logic that everyone knows that Kozume Kenma does not cry.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Kozume Kenma, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma & Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 38
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been what? like 2 years? i'm back and sadder than ever!  
> what can i say except i'm sorry  
> *sadly twerks away*

When Kenma opens the door to his and Kuroo’s apartment that night, he knows it’s The Night. The Night that he has to finally step up and do something about the way Kuro’s been behaving. He’s known that The Night has been looming, he’s felt it lurking the corners of his future, growing and growing to be undeniable, unavoidable. 

There’s an extra pair of shoes on the mat, an extra jacket on the hook, and two sets of clothes leading to the bedroom. The bedroom that Kenma and Kuroo were supposed to share. Kenma thinks that maybe he deserves this. After all, he never said anything the first, the second, the thirteenth time. 

It goes to be said that Kenma is many things. He’s too quiet, too tolerant of Kuro’s antics, too anxious to speak up. But of all the things Kenma is, the one thing he isn’t is stupid. He’d known what was going on from the very first time Kuroo lied to him and said he’d be working late. He’d hoped for the best, of course, but he would have had to be blind to not notice the way Tsukishima and Kuroo looked at each other, and even if he had happened to be blind, it would take a very stupid man to not notice when he answered Kuroo’s ringing phone and it had been Tsukishima who’d been on the other line, asking when Kuroo’d come back to bed, in less… appropriate… words. 

Tonight, Kenma doesn’t have the luxury of physical distance, the apathy felt over a phone line. Everything seems to be a little bit too raw, a little bit too  _ real, _ as he walks closer and closer to the door of his and Kuroo’s room, and Kenma can feel the sharpness of heartbreak in his chest through the slow fog that has settled over his mind. He pushes it down, shuts it away. Kozume Kenma does not have time for this pain. Not right now. 

He reaches out, trembling fingers ghosting over the doorknob. Through the flimsy piece of wood, Kenma hears Tsukishima’s voice calling his lover’s name, which Kenma thinks might have hurt, but he’s far away in his mind right now, someplace where no one can hurt him. He turns the knob, pushes open the door, and there’s nothing that he didn’t expect to see, but somehow, that almost hurts more. Tsukishima notices him right away, mouth snapping shut around a moan, but Kuro doesn’t, continuing to ravage the other with a single-minded intensity of a man on a mission. Kenma approaches the couple, and just as he clears his throat, he hears Kuroo murmur, “I love you,” into the skin of a man who is decidedly  _ not Kenma.  _ Kenma thinks he might have broken a little, let out some wounded noise, because suddenly, Kuroo freezes and turns, noticing Kenma for the first time.

The fallout is immediate. Bodies fly apart, and Tsukishima, ever the quick-thinker, slips out from underneath Kuroo and is gone from the room in seconds, no doubt to gather his clothes from the hallway and leave the lovers to their spat as quickly as possible. Kuroo takes slightly longer, regarding Kenma with wide, startled eyes. Kenma can almost see the gears turning in his head, working to figure out a way to explain this “mishap” away. Kenma wants to laugh, but he thinks it might be too close to a sob, and Kozume Kenma does not cry, especially not over cheating ex-boyfriends that he so happened to be in love with. 

They’re over, anyways. Nothing Kuroo says can ever make it right.

Kenma steels himself for Kuroo’s defense, but it doesn’t come. That bastard is waiting, watching, and Kenma used to think Kuroo’s shrewd intelligence was one of the most attractive things about him, but now Kenma just feels slightly sick.  _ Not even an apology _ , he thinks, and he’s not even surprised. Kuroo didn’t apologize unless he meant it. 

“How long.” It’s a statement, not a question, Kenma’s voice blank and emotionless.

“...this was the first time, Kenma, I swear on my life.” It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second, or the third, or the fourth, and Kenma knew this innately, like he knew how to defeat a final boss after battling all of the lesser minions. 

“Don’t lie to me, Kuro.”

“It  _ was  _ the first time! I promise, Kenma, I swear it won’t happen again!” Another lie. 

“Don’t disrespect me. I deserve better than that.”

Suddenly, Kuro’s snarling out a laugh, an ugly one. “You  _ deserve _ better? What about  _ me _ , huh, Kenma?”

And it’s like Kenma’s been doused in ice-cold water, all of the soft, warm parts of him left shaking and stunned. Inwardly, Kenma flails, trying to shield the gentle parts of him, the loving parts of him, shepherding them into a locked box in his chest. What’s left outside is frozen, cold and impersonal, and despite his best efforts, Kenma can feel the dull throb of pain slicing its way through the biting cold. “What do you mean?” Kenma can’t decide if he wants to hear the response. 

Kuroo seems to sense that he’s stepping on thin ice. Despite it all, it can never be said that Kuro doesn’t know his oldest friend. “It’s just- when you first asked me, I-'' he sighs, and Kenma thinks he can see Kuro’s fight leave in the exhale. “I didn’t think it would last this long. I thought if I gave you what you wanted, just for a few weeks, a few months, you would see that we were no good together, and you would leave on your own accord.”

“So what, you just  _ played along _ in a  _ two year  _ relationship?” It feels like Kenma’s knees are jelly, and maybe they are, because the next thing he knows, he’s crumpled against the wall, and  _ God, nothing has ever hurt like this before _ . He seeks out the warm gaze of his best friend, his oldest friend, and he feels the cracks in his heart widen when Kuro won’t meet his eyes. 

“Kenma, I-”

“Don’t.” 

Kenma straightens abruptly, but he’s not crying, because he’s  _ Kozume Kenma,  _ for God’s sake, and Kozume Kenma doesn’t cry. His everything, his face, body language, eyes, it’s all frozen under a careful cloak of blank, expressionless, ice-cold nothing. The ice cracks, shudders, but Kenma shoulders on. No satisfaction is borne of breaking. 

“I need to know. Was any of it ever real?”

There’s a pause, pregnant with concealed hope. But Kuroo’s hesitation is evident, and Kenma suddenly feels sick. “I see. I will be back to pick up my things shortly, Kuroo-san. The key will be under the doormat.” 

The dyed-blonde turns around quickly, not wanting to see his childhood friend’s face anymore, and walks out of their once-shared home. He feels something wet on his face and reaches up to check. Surely it isn’t raining outside?

As it turns out, Kozume Kenma does cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof lmao here it is, pals! wrote an entire chapter before i realized that i'm still in the angst phase- i guess i will have to write more chapters after all
> 
> i just want kenma to be happy! not in this chapter tho

Kenma doesn’t really know what happens after that. A short phone call, a teasing voice followed immediately by an incredulous “are you  _ crying? _ ”, a choked, whispered response, a car ride across the city. He’s still blank, still frozen, still stuck in that terrible land of nothingness and ice and cold. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s experienced this, but this time, Kuroo isn’t there to warm him up again. 

_ Oh, look.  _ He thinks, almost robotically.  _ I’m shaking. _

He pretends not to notice Oikawa’s concerned stare. “Kenma-”

“I’m fine.” The response is instantaneous, mechanical. “I’m fine, Oikawa-san.”

Kozume Kenma doesn’t believe in honorifics, not after that terrible year in high school. But Kozume Kenma also doesn’t cry, and look at how well  _ that  _ worked out. 

The brunet in question startled. Kenma hadn’t called him  _ Oikawa-san  _ since… Since ever. Kenma really didn’t do honorifics, nor did he do last names. It had always been just  _ Oikawa _ , and later  _ Tooru _ , ever since they met through Kuroo at university _.  _

“Oh, Kenma…”

“I’m fine. Can I stay over?” Finally, Kenma shakes himself out of his internal blizzard and glances around. He’s sitting on Tooru’s couch, the lumpy one with the big pillows, and there’s a blanket wrapped around him. Iwaizumi is leaning against the doorway to the living room, eyebrows knit, and Tooru’s wrapped around Kenma, stroking his hair gently. Kenma watches, apathetic, as the couple has a silent conversation before Iwaizumi gives a nearly-imperceptible nod and walks away, ostensibly in search of extra bedding.  _ Me and Kuroo used to have that _ . 

“Ken-chan,” Oikawa starts, hesitant, careful, gaze searching the younger man’s face as if it would give him hints as to the frozen wasteland that lay inside Kenma’s heart. 

Suddenly, it’s too much and not enough all at the same time. Kenma can feel the first thaw, a dull, burning throb in his chest, and he wishes, desperately, for a little more time in this cold numbness. But it’s too late. Kenma can hear the break in the ice like the crack of a gunshot, and Oikawa watches helplessly as his pudding-haired friend falls apart.

“Kenma...” the Oikawa’s arms tighten minutely around him, and shockingly, Kenma melts into him, body shaking with quiet, heavy sobs. 

They sit there for a few heartwrenching minutes, Oikawa running a soothing hand up and down Kenma’s back before Kenma breaks the silence. “Did you know?” Kuroo and Oikawa are on the same volleyball team, after all, and Kuroo hadn’t necessarily been stealthy about his affair. Plus, Kenma has never known Kuroo to wear his heart anywhere but on his sleeve.  _ But I guess I didn’t really know Kuro, after all.  _

“Did I know what?” And Oikawa is taken aback, his eyes widening in perhaps the most genuine expression of confusion to ever grace his face. Oikawa had never seen Kenma this visibly distraught. “Do you want me to call Kuroo for you?”

Even just hearing his name sends another pang of sharp, aching pain slicing through Kenma’s chest, a fresh wave of tears burning at the corner of his eyes. “Don’t call Kuroo.” 

Oikawa looks even more shocked then, the noticeable lack of nickname causing his eyebrows to knit low on his forehead, and Kenma can’t hold back anymore. 

“Kuroo has been cheating on me with Tsukishima.” The words sit, oily and disgusting, in the air, and there’s a split second that Oikawa almost wants to call bullshit. There are certain universal truths- the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, Kuroo loves Kenma. Hearing any different is like learning that aliens aren’t real, or that gravity no longer exists.

Kuroo and Kenma had always been a pair- Oikawa can count on two hands the number of times that he’s seen one without the other. Ken-chan and Tettsun. Kuroo and Kenma. Even their names seemed to fit together, and Oikawa can feel the disbelief written plain across his face. “Kuroo did  _ what now _ ?”

“He has been sleeping with Tsukishima for months. I thought if I ignored it, it would eventually stop. Evidently it did not.” Kenma pushes his tears down, fights to get his mask of casual indifference back in place, and lays everything out as apathetically and factually as he can. “I walked in on him tonight, and when I confronted him-” the corners of Kenma’s mouth pull downwards, trembling, as if Kenma is battling some vast, inevitable force, “-when I confronted him, he said he had never loved me, that none of it- none of  _ us _ \- was ever- ever  _ real _ .” 

And Kenma can’t help the sharp bark of a sob that claws its way out of his throat at that. He frantically attempts to patch his facade back together, to attain some semblance of his normal self, and Oikawa witnesses the terrible pain of a man who is too broken to fix. There’s an awkward silence pierced by choked sobs, then-

“Well,  _ shit _ , Kenma.” And that forces a dry, pained chuckle from Kenma’s throat, because  _ well shit _ indeed. There’s really nothing Oikawa can say to make anything better, no empty platitudes or meaningless encouragements. Nothing can mend the festering, Kuroo-shaped wound in Kenma’s soul except time, and try as he might, Oikawa is utterly powerless to stop Kenma’s pain. So, he settles for running fingers through long, unprofessionally-dyed hair, taking care to be gentle and kind and soothing, even with the tangled parts, and he guides Kenma to the sweet embrace of sleep, hoping that blissful unconsciousness will provide Kenma with some respite, however temporary. 

Kenma drifts off around ten minutes later, tear tracks staining his face. Oikawa lifts Kenma up and is shocked by how fragile the younger man seems, like the break in his spirit had been manifested into his physical body. Rage and shock swirl in Oikawa’s chest, blue like the hottest part of the flame, and even the thought of confronting Kuroo awakens something cruel and violent in Oikawa, long-dormant, but no less powerful from its dormancy. 

After tucking Kenma into the guest futon, thoughtfully prepared by Iwaizumi, Oikawa returns to the living room, where Iwaizumi is sunk into one of the lumpier parts of their couch, the reflection of the television’s light washing his skin in an otherworldly glow. 

“Kuroo tried calling your phone just now.” Sharp, angry eyes flicker up to Iwaizumi’s face, carving the path for a sharper, angrier tongue, but Iwaizumi defuses it with a raise of his hand. “I didn’t pick up. Figured something was off. What happened?” 

And just like that, Oikawa loses the fight in his body, grounded by his Iwa-chan’s blunt, no-nonsense tone. Long legs cross the living room in four quick strides, and Iwaizumi lets out a quiet  _ oof _ when his boyfriend nestles into him, heavy with the weight of exhaustion and secondhand heartbreak. 

“Oi, Trashykawa-”

“You know I love you, right, Hajime?” Oikawa’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, even after accounting for how it’s muffled against Iwaizumi’s neck, and it sets off warning bells in Iwaizumi’s head. Oikawa’s voice is not meant to harbor that undercurrent of sadness, that broken thread of lost hope, especially not when Iwaizumi is here to snap him out of it.

“Yes, of course, and I love you too, you dumbass. Really, what’s going on?”

“Kuroo-” and the name is spat out like poison from Oikawa’s tongue, “-he cheated on Kenma. Multiple times. With  _ Tsukishima _ , of all people.” Oikawa could feel the lines of his Iwa-chan’s body tense against him, and he let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not even the worst part. When Ken-chan confronted Kuroo about it, that  _ dickface _ told him that he’d never loved him. Isn’t that the nastiest thing you could ever say in a situation like that?”

And then  _ Oikawa  _ falls apart, sobbing. He’s always been a little too empathetic for his own good, crying at the sappiest romantic comedies and sinking into depressive states at fictional tragedies. Iwaizumi does what he always does, and runs a warm, reassuring hand up and down his boyfriend’s back, rocking him gently.

While he soothes Oikawa, Iwaizumi runs over the situation in his mind, turning facts over and over like they’re rocks he wants to smooth into pebbles. With a start, Iwaizumi realizes that he’s angry too- of course he is, Kenma isn’t just Oikawa’s close friend- but where Oikawa’s anger is like the flash-bang of dynamite, Iwaizumi’s anger is like a mountain spirit, slow to waken but deific in its wrath. He tamps it down, though, rocking it back to sleep as he does the same to Oikawa. Iwaizumi needs to be the rational one, tonight. The morning would hold his anger and Oikawa’s.

“Come on, Tooru, let’s go to bed. Kenma’s asleep now, isn’t he?” 

A sniffly little nod that breaks Iwaizumi’s heart. 

“Then we can sleep too. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

In lieu of answering, Oikawa wraps his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, nuzzling quietly into the side of his head. Iwaizumi sighs, mock-exasperated, but picks Oikawa up, bridal-style, and carries them to bed. 

In the room next door curled up in the smallest ball possible, silent tears stream down a sleeping Kozume Kenma’s face. His cries are frozen in his throat, locking two devastating syllables inside. His subconscious has its limits, it seems- even as it reaches for the warmth of a presence that is no longer there, it does not let Kenma cry his former lover’s name into the night as he has done so many times before. It’s for the best. Wounds should be allowed to heal, even with the knowledge that they will scar.

The morning would be for mourning too.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes! that was a sad one, boys!  
> i've marked this as complete, but we'll see  
> do i smell an oikenma friendship in the future??? owo
> 
> also, in my draft notes i have written:  
> "kurotsukki gettin it on but like… keep it pg man (“let’s get it on” sax plays violently in the bg)"


End file.
